


Rumor Has It

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M, First Time, Gossip, Oral Sex, Porn, Propositions, Sex Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27399091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: It wasn't often Chris got propositioned for a threesome mid-breakfast, but theDiscoverywas turning out to be special like that.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Christopher Pike
Comments: 71
Kudos: 186





	Rumor Has It

**Author's Note:**

> Number One has very little characterization, so my headcanon is she's the uber-competent type who messes with Pike all the time just for kicks. This will undoubtedly get jossed by the Pike show, but hey, that's at least two years away.

Chris read through the resupply report on his PADD, ruthlessly ignoring the whispers and glances thrown his way as he finished his breakfast. The gossip had crescendoed in the last twenty-four, for no reason Chris could figure. He chalked it up to the novelty finally wearing off. He'd been serving as captain for a few weeks now and people's instinctive fear of the new guy had waned. 

To be replaced with hunger, it seemed. 

"Good morning, Captain," Specialist Wells purred as she approached, hips swaying, an invitation to admire her curves. 

Chris met her gaze with a professional smile, clocking Michael and Tilly in his peripheral, looking over from their nearby small table. Apparently he wasn't alone in noticing Wells' suggestive tone. "Specialist," he greeted, neutral.

Wells paused at his table, silky dark hair slipping over her shoulder, looking at him with the kind of wide-eyed innocence that doubled as an invitation to sin. "Now that you've settled in to your duties, you should check out the rest of the ship. The _Discovery_ has all sorts of surprises," she said, a blatant offer in her tone, like he could surprise himself right into her bed.

Chris took her in for the briefest of moments. She was stunning—a heart-shaped face, wide green eyes, and luminous pale skin, the kind of classic beauty that turned heads—and he couldn't be less interested. He'd gotten over a quick tumble with girls her age when _he_ was her age. Rather than tempted, all he felt was amused. Because...really? She was hitting on _him_? 

He made sure to keep his expression bland. "As all ships do. Unfortunately my duties keep me fully occupied." 

Wells pouted, bringing attention to her admittedly perfect mouth. "Aww, Captain, you know what they say about all-work."

"An impressive career it makes?" he suggested, light. 

Before she could say anything, Specialist Larani sauntered up, dark hair swaying in a long ponytail, a wicked smile gracing her full lips. "What's impressive now?"

Wells looked to Larani knowingly. "The captain's _work ethic_ ," she said, hitting the hard cs, as good as saying _the captain's cock_. 

At the next table over, Chris could actually see Michael stiffen in discomfort, then quickly look down. It made Chris want to smile, but he stifled it, not needing the specialists to get the wrong idea. 

Larani's blue eyes slid back to Chris, a come-hither look that undoubtedly sent all the twentysomethings stumbling over themselves to get at her "I want to hear all about that. The three of us should grab dinner. You can enlighten us," she drawled, tone offering to let him lighten the clothes right off her. 

Huh.

It wasn't often Chris got propositioned for a threesome mid-breakfast, but the _Discovery_ was turning out to be special like that. Wells didn't react at all, so they'd either talked about this or they hopped into bed with people so regularly it didn't faze her. Chris' mind traitorously pictured it—the three of them twined together—though he immediately shut it down. Even just the thought made him tired. 

Another part of him marveled a little. Given the specialists' confidence, this probably went over like gangbusters with most of their targets. 

Chris did enjoy defying expectation. 

"Professional development should run through Commander Saru. Proper channels and all. I'm sure you understand," he said, tone short, taking a sip of his coffee and shooting them an _anything else?_ look. Behind them at one of the long tables, he noticed a group of ensigns repeatedly glancing over, the guys' unhappy frowns clear even from a distance. 

Chris sighed internally. So this was going to be a thing. 

Wells tsked at him, teasing. "Such a proper workaholic. We'll break you of that eventually, sir."

Now Chris did smile, putting something unimpressed into it. "Many have tried."

Larani actually bit her lip as her eyes dropped down his frame. Then they were back on his, utterly shameless. "Well. Your reputation does precede you," she said, a layer to it that he actually _didn't_ understand, something in him doubting she meant his professional reputation.

Despite his curiosity, it was probably best not to encourage them. "Have a good day, you two," he said, a dismissal in his tone. 

"Captain," Wells murmured in farewell, breathy, Larani following a beat later, like they wanted to leave him with a taste of what they'd sound like in his bed. 

Chris kept his mind from going there again, but they were effective, he'd give them that. 

He didn't watch as they walked away, not needing to incite _anyone_ by checking out the inevitable sway of their hips. Movement at the next table over caught his eye, Tilly excusing herself to hurry after them, her low words swallowed by the buzz of the breakfast crowd. 

That left Michael alone, still determinedly looking at her empty plate, some kind of embarrassment spiking off her. 

"You okay there, Commander?" Chris asked, mild, but letting a touch of his amusement through. 

Michael looked up, something helpless in her expression, like she could not _believe_ what she'd just seen with her own damn eyes. "I'm...yes. All good. So good. Absolutely."

"What's the matter, never been propositioned over your morning coffee?" he asked, taking a pointed sip. 

Michael stared at him, seeming shocked he'd brought it up. She blinked a few times. "I don't drink coffee," she finally said, half-strangled. 

Chris laughed aloud, charmed. She really was something else. 

And he really needed to stop his thoughts from straying in that direction. 

"Touché," he said, light, toasting her. 

He would've left it there, but she actually leaned forward a little, like her curiosity was too much for her. She started to say something, then stopped, eyes widening. Surprised at herself, maybe? Chris couldn't parse it. 

He wanted to. 

So he waved at the chair opposite him, keeping his expression open. An offer. If she wanted to take it. 

Michael glanced around, swallowed, then moved to his table, taking the seat with a quiet exhale that hit him somewhere low. He was far too distracted by her; he should have more control.

And yet. 

She shook her head a little, but she'd committed. She clasped her hands together and leaned forward again, like now that she had permission she just needed to _know_. "Is that...does this happen a lot?" 

Chris half-shrugged. "Eh. Breakfast is a little bold, but there's no accounting for taste."

Michael stared at him, dark eyes wide and unblinking. "So that's a yes."

He shrugged again. "Everyone knows the captain."

"And people talk," she muttered, almost to herself. Then she realized what she'd said and looked down, like that embarrassed her for some reason. 

Something tickled at the back of Chris' mind. That was the second reference to gossip this morning. He'd hope it was a coincidence, but experience had taught him better. 

"Do they?" he drawled, elongating the words, studying her. 

Michael's eyes snapped to his. Her lips parted, wholly without artifice, and the sudden heat of it bowled him over, Chris wanting nothing more than to get Michael under his hands, to see what else could make her react, all thoughtless eroticism. 

Chris swallowed it down, banishing those thoughts. Those very enticing, very forbidden thoughts. 

Michael took a careful breath. "You know how ships are," she said, like that explained everything. 

Chris quirked a smile to let her off the hook. "That I do." He gestured his cup toward the ensigns behind her, still tossing him stray glances every now and again. "And I imagine I'll be running into this some more before my time here is through. Hazard of the job."

Michael looked behind her, then whipped back around, blinking, surprised. "You think they..." she trailed off, like she didn't know how to phrase it. 

Chris shot her a sly look. "Either they want a ride or they're pissed I'm keeping 'em from one. Regardless, should be a barn-burner of a conversation."

Michael tilted her head at him, like she was trying to figure something out. "I'm not hearing any consideration in this." 

Chris just scoffed and took another sip of coffee.

But apparently she was serious. She gestured to his form vaguely. "You're—" She broke off, that charming air of embarrassment back, making Chris want to smile. She immediately tamped it down and switched tracks. "Your time here is temporary. You could...socialize," she finally landed on. 

Chris made a low, appreciative noise. "Nice euphemism."

Michael breathed out and looked down, like it just hit her that they were talking about his sex life. "You're right. That is _completely_ inappropriate," she said, tone vaguely appalled at herself. 

"I'm teasing, Michael," Chris said, easy, using his soothing voice. "It's fine. And no, you're not hearing any consideration. All this is just..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "Kids wanting to pass the time."

Michael shot him a quelling look. "They're hardly kids."

"Those specialists are young enough to _be_ my kids," he shot back.

"And that bothers you," she guessed, a line forming between her eyebrows, like he was a puzzle, one she wanted to solve. 

Chris ignored his body's response to the idea of letting her, having all her focus on him. He made an approximate gesture. "I find myself less interested in transitory pleasure these days."

That actually made Michael blink. She eyed him, expression blank. "Isn't all pleasure transitory?" she finally asked, as if this should be obvious. 

That _pulsed_ through him, Chris unable to control his response now that they were talking about _her_ sex life. Her less-than-thrilling sex life, apparently. He ignored the instinctive rush of conviction insisting that _he_ could do better. 

That was...so not relevant. Even if it _was_ true. 

But he kept those thoughts to himself, shooting her a smirk. "Piece of advice? Sleep with some different people." As Michael looked away, embarrassment intensifying around her again, Chris very deliberately did not imagine himself in that role. No matter the awareness now tingling through him. 

Instead, he swallowed and moved right along: "But I was referencing their offers. Sex is fine. No, sex is great. I highly recommend it for people who aren't me." He'd resigned himself to that years ago, the power differential too pronounced with anyone on his crew. It was the rare person who made him question it. 

One currently sat before him. Not that he would ever let her know. 

Michael studied him, contemplative. "It's great, but you don't want it?" she asked, an almost...mournful note to it. Like she was somehow saddened by that idea. Which didn't even make sense; it wasn't like this affected her. 

Chris tipped his head. "I want more. Connection. Intimacy. Partnership." He gestured off to the wider mess hall, encompassing all his would-be bedmates. "That's not what they're after."

"Someone could be," she said, soft, but also heavy, like this _mattered_. 

"It's a lot to ask," he returned, equally soft. Hell, he could count on one hand the number of people who'd even sparked his interest and still, the risk was too great, his authority too compromising. He could never _not_ be Captain Pike. In every room he walked into, to every person he met, commanded, saved—he was not a man, but a symbol. Starfleet's finest. A living legend. An ideal even he had trouble living up to. 

He tried not to think about that too much. Of course it would be Michael who made him. 

She sat back, nodding a little, a sympathetic smile curling at the edges of her lips. It sent a wave of _want_ clear through him, so Chris looked up to her eyes, so sympathetic. "Don't give up on it. You deserve all those things."

Chris had absolutely nothing to say to that. 

***

The conversation stayed with him as he made his way to the ready room and not just because thoughts of Michael often lingered. He shook off his inconvenient attraction and focused on the gossip still nagging at him, calling for Bryce to get him Number One. He frowned as he tried to think what he'd done in the last day to have inspired the kind of scuttlebutt that was clearly going around. 

Eventually the ghostly holo of Number One appeared, looking to him expectantly. "Captain," she greeted, neutral, but he'd worked with her long enough to read the _knowing_ undercurrent to it. 

And just like that, everything clicked into place. 

Of course. _He'd_ done nothing different in the last twenty-four. Of course this was her. 

"Number One," he greeted in return, putting a hint of suspicion into it. "Is it possible the _Discovery_ crew thinks I have some kind of unseemly reputation?" he continued, mild. 

The slight quirk of her lips was all the answer he needed, but she'd never leave it there. "'Possible' is such a broad word."

He shot her a dark look. "Una."

"For instance, it's _possible_ a certain ensign got in touch about relationship status, social interests, bedroom activities."

"Oh, _possible_ , is it?" he shot back, testy. 

Number One _mmmed_ , wholly unrepentant. "It's also possible she came away with the impression that you really excel on your knees," she said in that even tone that meant she was _delighted_ and wanted him to know. 

Number One's tones were legendary. 

"And now my reputation precedes me," he said, his own tone saying _fuck all the way off_. 

"I wouldn't know anything about that," she returned, which actually meant _you're welcome_. 

"Really?" he shot back. "This is what you thought I needed? I've got specialists stopping by my breakfast table to offer a side of blowjobs with my coffee."

Number One eyed him, innocent. "Are they cute?"

"You're not funny," he informed her.

Number One let her smile spread. "My experience of this conversation would argue otherwise."

"This is gonna be my whole tour now," Chris groused.

"Yes, nubile young things just gagging for your mouth. How terrible for you," she drawled, unrepentant. Then she seemed to consider. "Actually, I don't think it was gender specific. How are your blowjob skills?"

Chris narrowed his eyes. "I don't see how you're in a position to comment on any of my skills."

Number One made an _oh, right_ noise, like she'd forgotten to tell him. "Lydia really likes Risan rum."

Chris blinked at her as he processed _that_ piece of information. "You're never going on shore leave again," he shot back, ignoring the tiny flare of pride at the idea that Lyds was still extolling the virtues of his mouth, years on. 

Number One saw it anyway, shooting him a look, her blue eyes knowing. Damn her, she probably expected that. Hell, she likely engineered all of this as some kind of reminder that sex was good and he was good at it. 

The truly galling part was that it _worked_. After his earlier conversation with Michael, interest was now prickling hot down his spine, threatening to become want.

Which was especially unwelcome given the uniform pants he wore. He curled his hands into fists and controlled himself. 

Number One smirked, unbearably smug. Then she sobered, waving his concern away. "Don't worry, your penchant for Victorian rectitude will reassert itself eventually. But until it does, I insist on hearing all the particulars."

Chris scoffed. "I'm not encouraging this."

Number One shrugged, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. "Fine, I'll just get it from Tilly."

Chris stilled. "Ensign _Tilly_ called you?" he asked, his gut tightening oddly as _that_ piece of information landed. 

Number One's head tilted, genuinely surprised. "Really." Chris instantly shuttered his expression, but it was too late, Number One's eyes were narrowing as her impressive intellect honed in on a new project. "Tilly's much too young. So...someone proximate to her?" she guessed, already too close to the answer and she'd only been thinking about it for a few seconds. 

Dammit. 

Chris waved her off. "It's nothing."

"It's more interest in another human being than I've seen from you in two years, so we'll agree to disagree there." She visibly switched tracks, smiling a little. "This is good. If your secret paramour is close to Tilly, she'll have heard all about your mouth by now." Number One made a suggestive noise. "Grease the wheels for ya."

Chris winced. "That is...never say that again," he said, embarrassed heat slipping through him as he realized he would never hear the end of this. It would be the subtext to every conversation from now until _forever_. 

He wondered if he could just not call her for the duration of this mission. 

Number One nodded once, thoroughly unmoved. "I'm already compiling a list of euphemisms. We can get into them on our daily call."

Hang on. "We don't have a daily call."

"Boy, do I have news for you," she said, dry. 

"I strenuously object to this," Chris insisted. 

She nodded, all innocent blue eyes. "How's that worked out for you in the past?"

He just sighed. 

***

Chris walked in to the mess hall for lunch and paused. He was used to getting looks—people tended to go careful when their commanding officer was around—but the whispers and little smiles didn't seem to be going away, reminding him just _what_ they were all talking about. A whole crew gossiping about his oral skills. Christ. He was used to a certain amount of speculation, but this was much more focused. Not to mention overt. With his luck, next he'd be getting a call from Kat asking what the hell he was doing over here. 

He hoped Number One was having a good laugh. 

Chris glanced around the room, thinking maybe he should just eat in his ready room for a few days, let the fervor die down, when his gaze landed on the three ensigns from earlier. Jansen, Ventress, and Novak, if he wasn't mistaken, were once again shooting him looks. 

Ah, hell. Might as well get it over with. 

Chris headed to where they sat at one of the small tables, one seat conveniently open. 

Like it was meant to be. 

Novak's brown eyes widened as Chris approached. The other two clocked his distress, turning just as Chris stepped up to the table, all of them blinking comically at his presence, like they couldn't believe he was suddenly before them. 

"Gentlemen," Chris greeted, pulling out the empty chair and taking a seat. "I gotta say, you're not subtle. Which is it: you want to bang or bite my head off?"

They _stared_ , their silence turning stunned, like his words did not compute. Chris raised an eyebrow. "You've been shooting me looks since this morning. I have eyes. Out with it. What's up?"

Novak's cheeks flushed red, going from pale to nearly as red as his hair as he stuttered out, "Nothing! We're just—talking. Not about you! Sir," he added, his freckles seeming to stand out even more under Chris' unimpressed look. 

"That's bullshit and we all know it. Anyone else?" he asked, looking to Jansen and Ventress.

Ventress shook his head, sandy curls catching the light. "Sir, it's not—" he said quickly, stumbling over his words, blue eyes slightly panicked. "No problem here."

Jansen was the one who finally broke. "Okay, I'll bite: everyone's talking like you're the god of eating out. How're we supposed to compete with that?"

Annoyance at a perceived romantic rival, then. Chris was glad; that tended to be easier to handle than people hitting on him. Fewer hurt feelings over rejection at the end of it, at the very least. 

"You can't," Chris said, matter of fact.

"Yes, exactly. Thank you." Jansen turned to the others, mulish. "See? This is what I'm talking about. We're all boned." With his blond hair, blue eyes, and chiseled jawline, he was the type who would never have trouble attracting attention, Chris mused. This must be a new challenge for him. 

"Not what I meant, Ensign," Chris corrected, three pairs of eyes swinging back to him. Jansen was still aggrieved, but Ventress and Novak actually looked a little pleading, needing him to make this better. "Whatever you're hearing, it's a fantasy. No one can compete with a fantasy. Because it's not real."

"So you're...not some kind of cunning linguist?" Ventress offered, like he couldn't _believe_ he was asking, but needed to be clear.

"Oh, no, I'm legendary. Clearly," Chris shot back, not willing to diminish himself to make these three feel better. But that also wasn't the point. "But no one here knows that for sure. You three, though? They know you. You have reputations of your own. So the question is, why does the unknown quotient seem like the better option?"

"Well, I mean, you're the captain," Novak protested, like it was obvious. 

Chris looked to him, unimpressed. "What, you think that grants automatic sexual prowess? The third stripe comes with a magic tongue? Come on," he dismissed. He gestured to the three of them, all fit young men, in their primes. "I've got almost two decades on you guys. Try again," he said, putting a hint of knowing into his voice. 

It got an immediate and identical reaction from all three: they dropped their eyes. If possible, Novak flushed even redder. 

As he suspected. 

Chris gentled his tone, while still being firm: "Is it possible that you three haven't been as generous in bed as you could be?" he asked. "After all, if people were satisfied, they'd have no interest in a crusty old captain like me."

They looked up at him, the self-deprecation seeming to draw them out. 

"But yo, how do you even know?" Jansen protested, like this question had plagued him. "Like, where's the line? How do you decide what's generous and what's not?"

Chris looked at them blankly, stifling his endless annoyance that Kat had killed his suggested sex coursework at the Academy. He was right, she was wrong, and he needed to remind her of that. _Again_. 

But that was for later. For now, he made sure to shade his expression with sympathy as he said, "The best way I've found is to listen to women and when they say they like something _do more of that thing_ ," he said, slow, so they really heard him. 

They all took that in, contemplative, like this was some kind of revelation. Chris felt suddenly, viscerally bad for the women of the _Discovery_. Well, the ones who deigned to sleep with these three, anyway. 

He really hoped that didn't include Michael. She deserved so much better. 

"You're saying there's no such thing as too generous," Ventress concluded.

"But what if—what if you don't _like_ going down on girls?" Novak asked, a plaintive note to it. 

Oh, for God's sake. 

Chris looked at him evenly. "Do you like blowjobs?"

Novak blinked wide brown eyes. "...yes?" he stuttered, like this might be a trick question. 

"Then get over it. You don't get what you're not willing to give."

Novak blinked again, like he hadn't expected Chris to call him out. "...oh."

Chris pinned each of them with a look. "Frankly, gentlemen, there is nothing hotter than a woman enjoying herself, so if that's not your experience, you need to put some effort into your technique." They _all_ blinked at that, clearly taken aback. Chris raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "What, you thought I was going to excuse poor performance?"

Ventress rubbed a hand over his mouth, shaking his head a little. "I'm gonna admit that I never planned to have this conversation and it's kind of freaking me out."

Chris stifled a smile, holding onto his stern captain persona: "Be that as it may, if your partners aren't desperate to get you back in bed, there's room for improvement. So improve."

Jansen blew out a breath, nodding like he'd seen the light. "That's some wise shit there, bro. You're so right. We should be rocking their worlds."

Ventress and Novak nodded, getting on board.

Chris kept himself from twitching at being called _bro_ , inclining his head in approval. "Excellent. Embrace that spirit of generosity," he said, encouraging. 

"Yeah. _Yeah_ ," Jansen repeated, nodding some more, blue eyes determined. He looked to the others. "We're gonna be, like, the new bedroom gods."

Chris suppressed his laugh and knocked against the table once, decisive. "Good luck, Ensigns. I'll leave you to it."

He stood to a chorus of, "Thank you, sir," nodding and then heading for the door. 

As he walked out, Chris wished them well. For the women's sake, if nothing else. 

***

Lunch in his ready room was peaceful, which was a welcome change, if a little solitary. Hopefully word of the ensigns' newfound generosity would spread and they'd have their turn in the spotlight. By the time that faded, everyone likely would have forgotten about Number One's rumormongering. He might even lord that over her. 

It wasn't often he defused her little amusements. 

The thought actually cheered him as he made his way to the bridge. He walked down the corridor toward the turbolift, rounding the corner—

Right into Tilly, who fumbled to a stop, almost overbalancing, but catching herself at the last. "Captain! Yes. Hi."

Chris smiled a little, charmed by her awkwardness, as always. "Ensign," he greeted, calm, moving to walk past her, but she stepped into his path, stilling him. 

Tilly eyed him, blue eyes round, like she was seeing something she couldn't believe. "Um, sorry, but is it possible—I mean, is there a way—did you tell the guys they're bad in bed?" she asked in a rush.

Chris blinked. The rumor mill was working even faster than he thought. That was kind of impressive, actually. In response to her question, he just half-shrugged. "Not in so many words."

Tilly blinked at him once. Then again. 

Then she _threw_ herself at his chest and wrapped him in the kind of hug no one had bestowed on him in years. " _Thank you_ ," she said into his shoulder, impassioned, squeezing him like he might disappear if she let go. 

Chris laughed and patted her back, light. "I take it this isn't news?"

Tilly pulled back, looking up at him, frustration in her eyes. "Do you know how long we've been trying to—they don't know how to buy a clue." And of course no one would want to actively insult them. They'd need to come to it on their own. 

He tilted his head, his amusement fading. "Sometimes you need to hear things in a certain context," he offered. Like by someone who had no particular vested interest.

Tilly nodded emphatically, her red curls bounding. "You are, like, a living fantasy, for multiple reasons, and seriously, just say the word, you never need to sleep alone again," she said, intense.

Chris laughed again and held up a hand. "I'm good. I just hope the point sticks."

"Oh, it will be sticking," Tilly said, like by God, this was her new mission.

Chris sketched an ironic salute at her. "Go forth and conquer." 

***

Chris couldn't help the rush of pleasure when he realized Michael was lingering after the evening briefing. He looked to her from where he stood behind his desk, raising an eyebrow as Saru left, the doors closing behind him. 

Michael smiled a little as she approached the desk. "You've been busy today."

He quirked his lips. "Have _I_? Or has everyone else just been extra chatty?"

She inclined her head, granting the point. Chris marveled at the grace of the simple movement, Michael bathed in the golden light from the nebula outside. She really was exquisite. 

"I hope you realize you've earned Tilly's undying gratitude," Michael said with some secret amusement. "Along with a good portion of the female crew, I'd bet."

Chris slanted a look at her, considering. "Not yours?" he asked, keeping it light. Allowing her to play it off as a joke. If she wanted. 

Michael raised a brief eyebrow, but shook her head once. "I tend to have different priorities."

Chris made an inquisitive noise, low. "So I'm not the only one choosing not to...socialize?"

Michael held his gaze, dark eyes penetrating. "Did you call yourself a crusty old captain?" she asked instead of answering him.

He shrugged, wondering where she was going with this. "It may have come up."

Something flickered in her eyes, nothing he understood. "Isn't that selling yourself short?" she asked, quiet. 

"The point was the crew should be entertaining each other. No need to involve me," he said, dry. 

"But what if they want something...more?" she asked, moving closer, beside the desk, a reverence to her eyes now that spoke to something deeper. Chris' gut tightened at her look, at how she echoed his own words, his body tingling with expanding awareness. 

" _They_ don't," he said, a shade helpless, a little bloom of heat unfurling in his chest. No. There was no way. He had to be imagining this, his own want coloring things. 

Michael tilted her head, _so much_ in her eyes. "I tend to have different priorities," she said again, soft, an admission. 

The feeling sweeping through him intensified as he realized this _wasn't just him_. Part of him didn't want to hope, but the openness he saw in her expression, the heat responding within him..."And what are those?" he finally asked. 

"Connection. Intimacy. Partnership," she offered, putting it all out there. 

It _burned_ through him, adrenaline racing along every nerve, waking him up. But even as his body reacted, Chris marveled at her bravery, just up and saying this to him, after he'd spent the day shooting others down. 

Because Michael _wanted_ him. The idea was so impossible, so forbidden, it made his head swim. Chris swallowed against the sudden surge of _want_ , needing to be careful with this. It mattered too much. "You deserve all those things," he said, soft, moving closer, resting careful fingers on his desk so that he wouldn't reach out and touch. 

"We both do."

He shook his head, heart pounding, trying to _think_. "I haven't entertained this. In a while."

Michael just nodded, saying nothing, leaving it to him to choose. 

"But _you_ ," he continued, drinking her in, golden light shining down on her, "You made me want to."

Michael sucked in a breath, pleasure warming her expression. 

Chris swallowed, trying not to get lost in it. In her. "Still, I can never forget my position, relative to others. I have a duty to make sure I never put pressure on or compromise anyone in any way."

Michael nodded. "I don't feel compromised," she said, matter of fact, like they were talking about bulkhead repair and not... _them_.

He studied her, soft. "Are you sure? It's...new."

Michael swallowed, but held his gaze. Always so brave. "Not for me."

Chris' breath caught, his pulse kicking up another notch, tingling starting in his hands. "Oh?"

Her eyes were so warm. "I've been...struggling with how to bring it up for a while now."

Another wave of heat flushed through him at that idea. Michael wanting. Not knowing how to ask for it. But no, he couldn't fall into those thoughts. He had to understand this, he had to be _certain_ it was all proper. 

Chris swallowed, thick. "So, what, you heard me shoot down a couple specialists and thought you'd have better luck?"

A smile touched Michael's lips, the sight sending a bolt of _heat_ through him. "You told some ensigns to stop being bad in bed when it didn't affect you at all and I realized...that's who you are. You try to make things better, even when it doesn't help you. _That's_ what I want. And I don't want to wait anymore."

Chris stared at her, blank, too much _feeling_ rushing through him to process right now. But one thought did float to the surface: "I'm actually gonna have to thank Number One for her gossip."

Michael huffed a small laugh, then dropped her hand onto his, still resting on his desk, the touch _electric_. She looked up at him, desire in her eyes, lips parted unconsciously. "Maybe later?"

***

It wasn't that Chris _forgot_ what it was like to have a woman in his arms, in his bed, underneath him; it was that the sheer visceral pleasure of it was new every time. 

Michael was gloriously responsive, like she reveled in the pleasure of it, too, holding Chris close, gasping as his hands moved over her, tracing patterns across her gorgeous dark skin, discovering how the inside of her elbow made her shiver, the soft place where hip met thigh made her gasp, her sides made her laugh.

He laughed with her, catching her joy with his mouth, kisses sucking both of them under, his hands never stopping their exploration. 

Chris moaned when he slipped a hand between her legs, her slickness sending a sharp _zing_ of heat through him, cock pulsing, reminding him he was hard, he'd _been_ hard. He instantly ignored it, his own pleasure irrelevant in the face of hers, instead focusing on the heat between her legs. Chris touched her there, too, learning what she liked, fingers curling inside her as they kissed, Michael choking out a half-sob against his lips, hips bucking against him, utterly unselfconscious in her desire. 

Still, he took his time, discovering what touch she liked best, a teasing press just below her clit making her tremble, her internal walls fluttering around his fingers as she came, keening into his mouth. 

Chris pulled away from her mouth to watch her eyes open, glazed with pleasure, the faint shine of sweat on her skin making her glow. 

He reluctantly pulled his fingers out of her, but he didn't move away, instead tracing them over her skin again, mapping out how her body responded after she came, the way she sighed in satisfaction. Chris ran firm fingers all over her, then followed that path with a ghost of a touch, Michael shifting underneath him, groaning as he teased her. 

Chris dropped his mouth to her shoulder, trailing tiny kisses down to her breasts, getting a little gasp as he sucked a hard nipple into his mouth. Then he moved lower, Michael's hand carding through his hair as she caught on. 

He looked up, smirking and then nipping at her bellybutton, light. 

Michael laughed, luminous, delight clinging to her. She gripped the hair at the base of his neck. "You don't have to," she said, voice a low purr that made his cock _pulse_ against his thigh. 

Chris kissed down her stomach, fingers sliding over her wetness again. "And have Tilly accuse me of holding out on you? No, thank you."

Whatever Michael was going to say was cut off when he ducked his head and got his mouth on her, wringing an abandoned cry from her. 

Chris settled in, using what he'd learned from touching her. She shouted when he fluttered his tongue just below her clit, hand going painful-tight in his hair, bucking up against his mouth. 

He worked her, fingers pressing inside her again, feeling how she tightened on them, the warmth and wet going straight to his cock, the press of his erection getting more insistent. Chris shifted his hips away from the bed, not needing any more stimulation. Michael against his tongue and the helplessly turned-on noises she made were enough for him. 

Soon enough she was coming again, body pulsing around his fingers as she shook, Chris lightly swiping at her clit, easing her through it in a way that wrung another sharp cry from her. 

When her orgasm subsided, he backed off, resting his chin on her thigh and looking up to take her in—breasts heaving as she panted, sweat glistening all over, her expression lost to orgasmic bliss. 

Chris felt bad for every idiot who didn't get it. Who didn't understand the sheer intensity of this satisfaction, knowing _he'd_ put that rapturous look on Michael's face. It was another kind of pleasure, separate from the pulsing in his cock, less desperate, maybe, but so very real. 

He kissed his way up her thigh, hands sliding over her, taking in the faint trembling throughout her frame, uncontrolled. 

Michael pressed into him, making a wanting noise as he kissed his way up her body, skin sliding against hers as he did. He luxuriated in the feeling of it, her heat bleeding into his, her simple physical presence its own kind of intimacy. 

Chris settled beside her, pressing close as his mouth found hers again, Michael sighing into the kiss. She dipped down to kiss over his chin and jaw, only to return to his mouth, reverent.

After the urgency of those kisses faded, he pulled away with a smile. "Live up to the hype?" he teased, sweeping a hand down her side, tickling a little because he could. Because he knew that about her now. 

She laughed, swatting at him playfully, eyes dancing. "Your reputation is safe," she said, mocking enough that he had to kiss her again. He lost himself to the press of their mouths, the way they traded lazy kisses, sure but still new. 

"Want you," she murmured into his mouth, shifting her hips against him, brushing his very hard cock, the movement slamming him back into his body with a hiss. 

Chris groaned as she moved, teasing but firm, enough to light fire up his spine, reminding him that he'd been on the edge for _so long_. The heat of it blanked his mind, Chris unable to do anything but _feel_. 

Michael's hand wrapping around him snapped him out of the stupor, her tentative stroke actually making him lightheaded, the rush of pleasure was so intense. 

He grunted a negative, not wanting to come unceremoniously over her fist, and Michael got it, releasing him. 

"Come on," she urged, tugging at his arm to get him to move, positioning herself underneath him, the sight of it setting off mini fireworks in his brain. 

But he got control and settled between her thighs, ignoring his shaking hands. He lined himself up, finding Michael's mouth as he slid inside her, a sob tearing from him, Michael still so _wet_ , her warmth sending lighting up his spine, obliterating all thought. 

Michael's breath caught when he seated himself, a high, satisfied sound that he felt at the base of his spine. And then it was all instinct, heat, and fucking into her, Michael wrapping her legs around him and urging him on with choked gasps, every sound she made seemingly directly connected to his cock. 

It was fierce and hot, Michael's nails digging into his back as his hips met hers, the pleasure screaming _yes yes yes_ through him drowning out all sound. Thankfully, Chris had enough presence of mind to feel her start to shake around him, despite desperately clinging to the edge of his own control. He braced himself and got a hand between them, bringing her off again, biting at her mouth as she keened and came, body squeezing like a vise—

Coming was a wash of sound and bursts of light, pleasure vibrating through him as his whole _body_ pulsed with it, long, timeless moments of bliss where he forgot how to breathe, to think. All he could do was _feel_. 

And then he came back to himself, shaking, still inside Michael, aftershocks of pleasure burning through him. He was still braced so he didn't crush her, their sweaty skin fused together, both of them panting loud in the silence of the room. 

Michael pressed shaky fingers to the corner of his mouth, her eyes dark as she took him in, something both satisfied and a shade marveling in them. 

Chris turned his head and kissed her fingers, holding her gaze, hoping his look conveyed what would be impossible to put into words right now—how something had ripped open within him, something he hadn't felt in a very long time. Not just the pleasure of it, but leagues beyond that, desire melding into connection melding into awe. 

Michael breathed out, once, then pulled him to her, finding his mouth, the kiss fierce, but slow, the two of them hungry for each other again, even spent and sated as they were.

Eventually he pulled out of her, shifting over and to her side, slumping down inelegantly, muscles suddenly gone slack. Still, he gathered her close, one leg thrown over hers, wanting to feel her against him, to remind himself this was real. 

Michael breathed out, leaning in to press her mouth to his shoulder, lingering there. "You were right," she eventually said, voice low. 

Chris made an inquisitive noise, sleep already tugging at the edge of his vision. 

"Pleasure doesn't have to be transitory," she clarified with a satisfied little grin, one that sent another flare of pride through him.

"Just you wait," he promised, sleepy. He planned to _enjoy_ her. 

"I'll hold you to that."

***

Chris headed through the corridor toward the turbolift, Michael planning to follow not long after so they could stagger their entrances on the bridge. They'd jointly decided to keep their relationship quiet, no need to offer up any more grist for the rumor mill. Still, Chris couldn't help the general feeling of goodwill that seemed to permeate everything. 

Nor did he want to. He recognized this heady feeling, the stirring within him. It had been a while.

His contemplation was cut short by a low whistle, something impressed in it. Chris looked over—

To find Wells walking down the corridor opposite him, shooting him a wicked look. "Told you we'd break you of the workaholism. Sir," she added, saucy. 

Chris shot her a quelling glance. "That'll do, Specialist."

"Doin' something," she agreed as she passed him, suggestive. _Delighted_. 

Chris didn't deign to respond, but as she walked away he allowed himself a small smile. Doubtless this would be all over the ship by lunchtime, followed by wild speculation about just who had caught the captain's eye, but he couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed. 

Let them talk.

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't start out planning to have Pike chastise the dumbass ensigns for being bad at sex, but whatevs, I regret nothing. Pike's the hero we deserve.


End file.
